


Emergency Contact

by acornandroid



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Poisoning, Anal Sex, Cheating, Depression, Eddie is Richie' emergency contact as a joke, F/M, Fix-It, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hypochondriac Eddie Kaspbrak, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sex, Smut, alcoholic richie, but not between Richie and Eddie, mentions of mental abuse, one of those ones where they meet during the 27 years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21543892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acornandroid/pseuds/acornandroid
Summary: It had started as a joke. Eddie Kaspbrak's name and the number of where he would be on a piece of paper in Richie's wallet.Richie was never very good at cleaning things out. He was fairly certain a receipt for the first time he went to Olive Garden was in there too.(A.K.A. Eddie and Richie meet during the 27 years and fall in love)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 255





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi and hello there. 
> 
> I'm very excited about this fic and I have no idea why. Currently its set as six chapters and it may be longer. 
> 
> I'm self editing this one so please forgive me if its a little jumbled, but I'm trying. Hopefully you guys like it! 
> 
> I'm @acornandroid on Twitter if any of you want updates or just wanna see me be a weirdo.

Chapter 1

_Get a load of this monster_

_He doesn't know how to communicate_

_His mind is in a different place_

_Will everybody please give him a little bit of space?_

_Get a load of this train wreck_

_His hair's a mess and he doesn't know who he is yet_

_But little do we know, the stars_

_Welcome him with open arms_

** _-This is Home_ ** _ by Cavetown_

“I’ve still got it on a piece of paper in my wallet and everything.” 

“Bull_shit_, Richie. You do not.” 

“I do! ‘In case of emergency, call Edward Kaspbrak’. You think I’d leave the house without Dr. K’s number?” 

They were in Richie’s room, reading comics. Richie was lounging across his bed and Eddie sitting up beside him, legs crossed and leaning against the wall. In two days, they would be going their separate ways. Eddie, moving into the house his mother inherited from his grandmother in New York so he could go to the school of his mother’s choosing. Richie, to UCLA, major undeclared and the rest of his life undecided.

Neither were talking about it.

Richie sat up, grabbing his wallet off of the bedside table littered with empty water glasses and producing the folded-up piece of paper in no time. There it was-- the faded, scribbled pen writing of a fourteen-year-old Richie Tozier. The message and the number of Eddie’s grandmother’s house scribbled out in his desperate scrawl.

“Holy shit you do still have it—” Eddie gave a laugh, reaching out and snatching the paper from him. Richie snagged it right back in no time, folding it up and pushing it back into its sacred spot.

It had been a joke that summer when Eddie had gone off to see his grandmother. Just a joke that Richie would bust his skull open and not be found if Eddie weren’t there. Richie had gotten ahold of the number and vowed that Eddie Kaspbrak would be his one and only emergency contact.

He never took that paper out of his wallet.

\--

An undecided major soon turned into an undecided life.

Richie liked to believe he enjoyed the touch and go of not having a plan, or so that’s what he told himself. He had dropped out of college with the finish line of a degree in philosophy in sight and had taken off with an improv group that offered him an open spot after an open call audition he joined on a whim.

They started traveling around, doing shows here and there. It was great padding for a resume, whenever Richie decided to actually build one up. Who knew? He certainly didn’t.

It was this traveling that landed him, Richie Tozier, twenty-four and dumb as fuck, in a bar in the middle of New York City with said improv team.

While most of his group were your normal celebratory partiers, drinking was something that had come naturally to Richie from the first time he stepped foot on a college campus. It had been there slightly in high school, but not past the occasional backyard party at wherever-the-fuck he used to hang out with whoever-the-fuck brought the beer. Probably no thanks to the second whoever-the-fuck kid that would yell at him before he got past tipsy.

It had never really been a problem- drinking- he could stop whenever he wanted to. Right now, he was supposed to be having fun, right? Drinking meant having a fun time. A fun time in NYC after a successful show.

There was a pretty girl on his arm. Men like Richie had hot girlfriends.

Claire was her name. She was nice, and part of the group.

Actually, she was the whole reason he got the job.

A heart shaped face and a curvy body, natural blonde hair and soft makeup that added to her features. She was a heartstopper- or so that’s what Richie had picked up on from the other guys.

A attractive girl that thought he was funny and had asked him out. Richie would have gotten around to asking her out eventually anyways. Just like he had gotten around to kissing her eventually after she wouldn’t shut up about it on their fifth ‘official date’. They had made out in the hotel room for a while that night, but nothing past an awkward second base.

(Boobs were just weird, alright? They were squishy and Richie wasn’t quite sure what to do with them, but he had seen movies.)

Richie had been tired that night anyways, and…every other night they got the chance to be alone together.

It was on his third shot of the night that he locked eyes with Bar Guy, who was seated in the corner. He was licking the salt off of Claire’s finger—because that’s what boyfriends did to be sexy—when he had just so happened to see him. The stare lasted a tad too long to be considered accidental by Richie’s standards. He had quickly knocked back the tequila and laughed on cue when Claire shoved the lime wedge in his mouth.

The alcohol had been making his head start to spin a short while later. It was a pleasant sort of feeling that put Richie at a distance.

He liked being at a distance.

Most of the events ended up becoming a blur, as per usual with nights of overdrinking. Sometimes there’s bits and pieces that stick out. Important ones acting like check points in a video game.

Richie’s check points of the night played out as the following;

_Bar Guy caught his eye again, but was closer to him this time. There was something that had been said between them, but all Richie could remember saving for later was the low rumble of his voice and the sliding of the (insert number of shot here) th shot glass across the table with a note beneath it, scribbled on the napkin. Richie had scooped it up far too quickly to remember what it had fully said, but he must have known at the time. _

_Claire had been laughing with one of the other members of the group, none the wiser. She had kissed his cheek when he said he was going to go take a piss. _

_They hadn’t even made it into the men’s room. First mistake._

_Bar Guy—Hot Bar Guy had a nice mouth and strong hands. He had pushed Richie back against the wall and kissed him. Second mistake. _

_He tasted like tequila- or maybe that was Richie’s own mouth._

_Richie had kissed back- Third mistake- which was funny, considering he wasn’t gay. _

_A hard object had struck his head. Never before had Richie seen Claire so angry. _

_Loud, screaming squabbling from his girlfriend. Punctuating each and every point she was making with harsh words that Richie would never forget. _

Someone pressed start on the menu, and his game kicked back into gear.

Richie booted up again as he was blinking slowly at Claire, leaning heavily against the wall and pressing a hand to his head. Everything was spinning.

“No—I’m _not_—” He insisted, scowling at her. Or so he thought he was looking at her- when had his head dipped down to the floor?

“I’m sorry—you’re _what?_ You’re telling me you’re _not_ gay, Richie? Are you shitting me right now?” Claire stood an imposing five foot ten with the help of the three-inch heels she was wearing, putting her just a little closer to Richie’s face than he would want.

“Yeah! I’m telling you I’m not—I’m not fucking gay, Claire.” He slurred with a snort, shaking his head slowly even though the action made his stomach lurch.

“Oh, so you were just making out with a guy for…what? Shits and giggles? A new bit?” Claire stomped her foot, “I am so _stupid_! You won’t even fuck me, Richie! We haven’t had _sex_\--! And I thought there was something wrong with _me_\--”

People were starting to look now. It wasn’t exactly a loud bar. Since when did New York bars _not _blast music? Bars should always blast music for this exact reason.

“Would you—just shut the fuck up? Don’t scream about our sex life—” Richie hissed, leaning a little closer to her only to be promptly smacked by a hot pink clutch.

“What about our sex life? We don’t even have one!”

“We’ve only been dating for—like—three months—”

“Yeah! And you knew that guy for three minutes! You were sucking his face like a fucking porn star!”

Richie worked his jaw, his gut sinking. He could feel the eyes on him in a familiar way that he couldn’t quite place. It was a way that made his skin crawl, a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Terror- complete fear.

He just wasn’t gay. He _wasn’t_.

“Claire, babe—you know that we—”

“Oh, you are such—you are such a two-faced fucking faggot, Richie! Don’t fucking talk to me again. I don’t want to hear anymore from you—”

Richie’s ears rang.

The rest of her sentence was completely lost to him. His skin felt cold- he felt like he was going to vomit.

He did.

Richie spilled his guts on the floor of a bar in the middle of New York City, right outside of the men’s room as his (now ex) girlfriend stormed off with a number of his improv group in tow. All of them had heard. All of them.

Everyone here had heard.

Everyone here knew Richie Tozier was a fag.

_A two-faced fucking faggot._

He laughed suddenly— shocking his own self as he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, still leaning against the wall as if his life depended on it. Richie looked up, letting the hollow laughter wrack through his body, shaking his shoulders for effect and crinkling up his eyes in the picture perfect, if not a little drunk and sweaty, imitation of someone who had it all together.

“Nice joke, guys!” He shouted after them, rubbing his face under his glasses. “That—that was a good fucking joke. All for a new routine, right? Killing it was the new material—fucking _genius_—” Richie announced to the remaining participants at the bar, beaming stupidly to hide it all. 

They all had to know that it was just a joke.

Richie Tozier being gay was the funniest punchline of them all.

\---

Eddie Kaspbrak was pretty sure his life was a punchline to some sick joke.

He had just graduated college with a degree in business (his mother’s choice) and had taken a job in a local insurance office (his girlfriend’s choice). He was still living in his grandmother’s old house long after her passing. Mother had taken over everything about it- but it was rent free, _and _she had helped pay for his schooling. That made it worth it, right?

(It didn’t matter that she had driven him to class more often than not, even after he had gotten his drivers license. It also didn’t matter that she had introduced him to Myra- the daughter of one of the ladies in her book club. None of that mattered. Eddie was okay with it.)

He arrived home to the empty house and let out an unconscious sigh of relief. Eddie had narrowly escaped being driven to work by his own mother that morning, simply because one of his aunts had called and needed her sister’s help. He was too old for this shit.

Twenty-four and already too old.

Dropping his keys in the gaudy flower print bowl by the door and shrugging out of his jacket like releasing a shackle. Eddie hung it up on the coat rack and already began loosening his tie. The old-fashioned cat clock in view in the kitchen ticked mockingly at him, telling him the time was nearly seven in the evening. 

He had barely gotten across the kitchen when the house phone rang.

It was an old thing, and they had never changed the number. Still fastened into the wall with a long chord that was easily becoming outdated considering it was 2000 and not 1990-whatever anymore. More often than not they got scam calls or calls from places Eddie’s grandmother had given her number to long ago.

Still, mother would never change the number.

Mom hated change.

Eddie grabbed the phone with a sigh, tucking it against his ear as he stepped across as far as the chord would allow to turn the stove on beneath the tea kettle. He really wanted to destress at the moment, and hopefully tea would help with that. Certain herbal teas had that effect.

It never did work for him, but it was the thought that counts.

Maybe he could mentally convince himself to destress.

(That thought was laughable.)

“Kaspbrak residence.” He sighed tiredly into the phone, trying and failing at not sounding as strung out as he was. If it was mother, then he would be in for it at the tone of voice alone about how his job was too stressful and he should look for something else. Or she’d go on about his sleeping patterns and how sickly he looked and how he just needed rest _Eddie Bear, I’m worried about you_—

Myra would tell him to take those supplements she had brought over and start going on again about how he more than likely had an iron deficiency since he was so tired all the time.

_“Hi, I’m looking for Edward Kaspbrak?” _The voice on the other end said, the perfect mirrored image of a woman who was used to making calls of whatever nature this was.

“This is him.” Eddie stood on his toes to open the cupboard, ignoring mother’s sugary snacks in favor of the box of chamomile tea that seemed to always frustratingly end up on the top shelf. It was like mother _wanted _him to ask for assistance in grabbing it, or to watch the self-satisfaction of him grabbing the step stool.

_“Good evening, Mr. Kaspbrack. My name is Lindsey, I’m with Bellevue Hospital here in New York? I’m calling about a patient we received into our ER today by the name of Richard Tozier?” _

Eddie fumbled for the box of tea as it crashed down towards the counter, a couple of bags slipping free and scattering across the kitchen. The name felt like a baseball bat to the head.

The name made Eddie’s heart stop and then kick back up. It felt like he had been thrown down the stairs. His right arm ached sharply followed by a phantom weight of thick plaster. His head felt thick with fog and confusion that he tried to push his way through in order to form a response.

“I’m sorry—who?” Was all Eddie managed, a stunned, wide eyed stare being matched to the ugly lace curtains across the kitchen window.

_“Richard Tozier.” _The woman repeated, as if she were simply reading the name off of a screen. Which, now given the context of the hospital, she most certainly was. _“He was admitted a short while ago after being brought in by ambulance. We found your name and this number listed as an emergency contact in his wallet when searching for ID.” _

For the moment, Eddie was completely stunned. He stood there, sifting through the hazy memories of flickering sunlight, laughter- running water and rocks for some reason.

Fear.

All sorts of different kinds of fear.

Not just the raw, textbook definition of the emotion, but other sorts of cowardice that pricked at his mind and made his heart hammer. Eddie wasn’t certain how to form words- in fact, he feared he may have forgotten how to speak entirely.

_“Mr. Kaspbrak?” _The voice rang on the other end of the line, and Eddie felt the guide rope tugging him out of his deep trench of thought.

“I—Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ll be there soon.” He pulled the phone away from his ear, numbly setting it back down on the receiver. There were a few more moments spent standing in his rooted spot, dragging a hand over his face and breathing in slowly.

“Fuck. Fuck- _fuck_—” Eddie muttered to himself under his breath, mentally giving himself a shake before starting to pick up the discarded teabags in order to toss them into the trash. “Richard. Richie- Richie fucking Tozier—fucking Trashmouth- oh my _god_—_Richie_—”

He was startled out of his memories before they had the chance to be even partially recovered by the sudden whistling of the tea kettle. Eddie gave a shout in surprise, nearly stumbling but catching himself on the counter at the last moment. He removed the kettle with such force that he very nearly spilled the boiling water and tossed it into the sink in a rough moment of frustration.

The name was easy enough to remember- and the infuriating feeling that went along with it. Trying to remember Richie fully was like trying to remember a dream in the middle of the afternoon. It was vivid and there- a cloud of the notion of events, bits and jumbled pieces thrusted together like puzzle pieces that only formed an out of focus Picasso like image.

The subject matter of the mental image was enough- that Richie Tozier was someone important to him a long time ago. Important enough to have his name and this number in his wallet in case of emergencies.

_“I’ve still got it on a piece of paper in my wallet and everything.” _

A sharp pain struck Eddie right between the eyes, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he stood there, alone, in his deceased grandmother’s kitchen. The spiral of panic was sitting tight in his chest at the unknown, causing him to lift a shaking hand and loosen his tie further.

An unknown that he should know. A nagging sensation akin to leaving for a trip and knowing you forgot to pack that _one _thing, but not being able to remember what it was.

He had said he would be right there.

He should go.

Taking a deep breath, Eddie finally decided to make his move. He surveyed the kitchen, setting the kettle back on the stove in its original spot and stopping to pick up the scattered tea bags. Mother would come home, see the wreck, and immediately freak out. The last thing he needed was the police on his ass even though he was a grown ass man and would only be gone for a few hours.

He fetched his jacket and keys from beside the door and ventured back out into the evening yet again.

“What the fuck have you done now, idiot.” Eddie muttered to himself, unlocking his car and getting back in. “What stupid fucking thing did you do to get into the hospital—I don’t even know how I know but it’s fucking stupid. Hi- Edward? This is the hospital. Come see your long-lost idiot that you don’t _know_—”

He was ranting to himself through gritted teeth in an attempt to sort his brain. The keys missed the ignition once or twice in his frustration to jam them in. Eddie dropped them to the floor of the car, muttering a frantic string of ‘fuck you’s under his breath as he scooped them up and finally drove them home.

Eddie tore out of the driveway like a mad man the second he had strapped on his seatbelt. An uptight mixture of controlled chaos as he stopped at every light and stop sign, but not before screaming at the other drivers to do the same.

\--

Hospitals made Eddie’s skin crawl.

What he could remember of his childhood mostly revolved around these places. Emergency rooms and urgent cares- being poked and prodded and sitting in a cold room on the crinkling paper cover waiting with sickening anxiety while his mother had a hushed, but not that hushed, conversation with the doctor in the hall.

He never really knew what they said to her. He only knew what she told him after and accepted all of it without a fight. The inhaler, the meds, and everything in between.

Mother said he needed them, after all. So, he must.

Eddie took one look at this Richie Tozier passed out in a hospital bed and immediately shoved the aspirator roughly in his mouth and breathed in as deep as he could.

“Fucking shit.” He exhaled slowly, shoving the inhaler back into his jacket pocket.

He looked like absolute garbage for one thing- but…hot garbage. Eddie wrinkled his nose at his own unwarranted reaction.

They had Richie hooked up to an IV drip. His glasses were folded up on the small table at his bedside. According to the nurse it had been alcohol poisoning. Someone had found him passed out in the hallway of the hotel with a bottle of vodka and had called an ambulance.

Eddie wasn’t sure why that made his heart ache.

He stepped a little further into the room and eased himself down into the chair provided at Richie’s bedside. For some reason he couldn’t take his eyes off him, unable to shake the sudden unknown knowledge that Richie, did in fact, grow into his looks. A sudden desire to want to see those glasses back on his face and an urge to demand to know when he decided that facial hair would look good because—fuck—that scruff did actually look good.

Eddie would die before he told Richie that to his face.

If only he knew _why_.

“I don’t get this…” Eddie breathed, talking to himself and the room at the same time. “I don’t fucking get this- all of this is crazy. I’m insane. This is insane. I’ve finally fucking lost it.”

The chair creaked as he leaned back, tipping his head as he went and scrubbing tired hands over his face. He had woken up at four in the morning to beat traffic into the office, got stuck for two hours anyways, was late by ten minutes, stayed eight hours at a soul sucking job, took the road rage inducing commute back home, and now this.

Could this day get anymore chaotic?

Apparently, it could- according to whatever otherworldly being that existed out there that enjoyed screwing with Eddie’s life because his phone began ringing. The sharp default startled him in the dead silence of the hospital room and Eddie scrambled to retrieve the device from his pocket.

He swallowed hard as the contact **Mommy **showed on the tiny display on the front of his phone. Letting out a shaking breath, he flipped it open to accept the call. With the volume all the way up he held it a little less than an inch away from his ear.

“Hello?” His voice sounded small, even to his own ears.

_“Eddie bear, sweetie, where are you? You should be home by now! Are you in traffic again? You should have called me when you left! Or called me if you were in traffic. I know it can be a lot sometimes, honey, but if you just—” _

Eddie winced. Every time he spoke with his mother, even now, he felt like a child again. Like he was being scolded for going out on the freshly cut grass, or accidentally letting it slip that he had gone out to play in the backyard when it was barely drizzling rain. Or when mother found out that Richie had snuck into his room late one night and stayed over.

Wait.

“I, uh…” Eddie trailed off, both derailed by the suddenly surfaced memory and trying to think of an alibi as soon as he could. He had never been as quick on his feet as he needed to around his mother. His eyes drifted to the man on the bed- square jaw and sleep relaxed features. Skin that looked a little too pasty to be healthy.

He got to his feet, turning away from Richie before he became any more distracting that he already was just lying there.

“I stayed late in the office.” His brain finally decided to supply as he began to pace the small room. “They needed someone to wrap up the last few…forms.”

“_Sweetie, you should have told me. You’re always home by seven! Next time I can just come get you—” _

“No. _No, _mom, you’re not picking me up at work. I’m an _adult_—”

_“Yes, but I drove you to all your classes. We could take the carpool lane! Then it’ll give me time to do shopping in the city—” _

“We’ve been through this I’m not doing that. That’s crossing a line, mommy. _Please_.”

“Dude. What the fuck.” The slurred voice came from the middle of the room.

Eddie whipped around so fast he nearly fell.

Richie had turned his head on the pillow and was squinting at him as if he were trying to piece together the meaning of the universe. The idiot probably couldn’t see shit since his glasses were still resting on the table and he had yet to move a fraction more otherwise.

It took him a moment to be clued back into his mother’s ranting and pleading on the other end of the line. Drawing in a slow breath, Eddie pulled another lame excuse out of his book.

“Sorry, mommy. I really need to finish this form- boss is coming around the corner—” He snapped the phone closed quickly, and promptly shoved it away.

It started ringing again immediately, but Eddie was too busy staring wide eyed at the dumbass in the hospital bed.

“Listen…vague-outline-probably-ghost-man. Are you gonna answer that fucking phone or what?” Richie said, grimacing and turning his head back to now squint accusatorily at the ceiling.

“If I were a ghost I’d be in hell.” Eddie said, getting his hand back into his pocket and clicking his phone onto silent. The small action felt like a prison cell door slamming shut- he was so in for it when he got home. “Actually, this place isn’t too far off.”

“Alright. Not a ghost then.” Richie continued, though Eddie was certain he should be talking faster. This wasn’t how he vaguely remembered this strange man. Before he had been full of life- all jokes and loud voices. Bad accents and lewd humor.

Right? That felt right.

Now he just sounded…tired.

It didn’t fit the youngness of his face. Then again, Eddie supposed he was far too old for his face as well.

Time hadn’t been kind to either of them.

“You’re in the hospital, Rich.” Eddie made his way back to the chair, settling into it once more and leaning forward to watch him intently. Should he give him his glasses? Richie hadn’t asked yet.

“No shit, Sherlock. Got that from the fucking thing in my arm and the fact that I feel like shit—”

“I’m Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak. They called me.”

For someone who had, apparently, just drunk himself into oblivion, Richie turned his head at a speed that danced the line between a normal reaction and demon possessed head spinning.

“Wait- what the fuck did you just say?”

“Eddie Kaspbrack—”

“No, I got your fucking name, asshat. They called you. How?”

“I dunno! You’re the dipshit that hasn’t cleaned out their wallet since he was seventeen!”

Both of them stilled at that, staring at each other in silent shock.

Well, Eddie was doing the staring. He could tell Richie didn’t know where to look on whatever form his body had decided to take in his nearsighted eyes.

Huh. Richie was nearsighted. Eddie knew that—why did he know that?

“…Can you at least hand me my glasses before I continue going through with my spectacular quarter life crisis.” Richie said, flatly, already holding one hand out impatiently. “I can’t fucking see wherever they are, dude, I’m serious—”

Eddie grabbed the glasses, pushing them into Richie’s hand before he could continue further.

“There. There’s your glasses, asshole. Now let’s talk—”

“Fucking shit do you ever take a breather?”

“I’m breathing just fine—”

“Says the asthmatic—”

They both came to an abrupt halt once again. The forever frown on Eddie’s face deepened as he processed that, casting his gaze down to his shoes against the white tile.

“…Holy shit.” Richie had his glasses back on by the time Eddie looked up. He was _staring _at him hard enough to burn a hole straight through Eddie’s skin. His breath caught in his throat, wide eyes lingering on Richie’s own in the weighted silence that had settled between them.

The way Richie was staring at him was one he couldn’t quite place. He knew it was good- that was a good reaction painted across his features.

They both breathed in slowly, almost synchronized down to the second.

“I must still be fucking drunk cause there’s no way Eddie fucking Spaghetti grew up that attractive.” Richie murmured, mostly to himself. He winced slightly once he realized he had said that out loud.

He must still have a decent amount of alcohol in his system with the way that came out all breathy in his voice.

“Oh my god you used to call me that- don’t call me that.” Eddie said, deciding to not linger on that reaction or the fact that Richie had just basically called him ‘hot’ while laying stretched out on a hospital bed in the middle of New York.

“Pretty sure I used to call you a lot of things.” Richie said, his gaze breaking away finally as he decided it would be safer to look elsewhere, especially after the day he was having. Seeing Eddie again and remembering bits and pieces about him was just one more fucking thing to add to the top of his hoard of mental issues.

Eddie was staring at him, trying to take Richie apart piece by piece and reassemble him to fit into the fuzzy image he used to know. He remembered ice cream and…yelling. Lots of yelling. Though it was never truly bad.

That ache pressed persistently between his eyes, and he decided not to think much harder on it.

“…You okay? Need me to get the nurse?” Eddie ventured when he realized Richie’s silence was unsettling him just slightly.

“I’m fine, Eds. Don’t fucking worry about it.” Richie made a little bit of a face but settled on closing his eyes again. Everything else seemed too much to deal with. The darkness felt easier.

“I don’t know about you but that sounded like complete horseshit.” Eddie murmured, feeling warmth blossom in his chest when Richie smiled.

Leaning forward, he steepled his fingers and pressed them against his chin, watching Richie with more intent than he had before.

“Why don’t you take a fucking picture, it’ll last longer.” Richie snorted, even though his eyes were closed beneath his glasses.

“Fuck you. I’m trying to figure this out.” Eddie frowned tightly, the lined etched deeply into his face. Richie opened his eyes, looking over at him finally and studying Eddie’s face now that he could fully see it.

“Your face is gonna stick like that.”

“Fuck you. You gonna figure out how to be funnier?”

“Ooh. Low blow from a man I know and do not know at the same time.”

“That’s what I meant about trying to figure this out, asshole—did you not listen to that either?”

It was Richie’s turn to frown. They frowned at each other for a moment in silence, nothing but the soft drip of the IV and the shuffle of feet in the hall outside.

“So, you…know me.” Eddie murmured, “I know you. You’re—fuck you’re Richie Tozier. We grew up together.”

“…Yeah.” Richie echoed, still staring at him. “I don’t think I would say you grew up though. You’re still at the same height you were when we were twelve. Like a compact little toaster.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed at him, making another face as he finally sat back. “Fuck you. I’m an average height, okay? A whole large percentage of the population is five nine. It’s not my fault that you look like you turned into a gangly fucking giraffe. I don’t even need to see you standing up to know that. Also- toaster? Who the fuck calls someone a toaster?”

“Brave Little Toaster.” Richie clarified, settling his head back onto the pillows once more and shutting his eyes as if that explained everything.

“That makes no sense, dude—”

“You’re a toaster.”

“I’m not a toaster- you’re so fucked up right now it’s not even funny-- I’m not gonna take anything you say with any merit—”

“Put spaghetti in a toaster.”

Eddie let out a long-suffering sigh, abandoning the conversation to die on the side of the road. This was not a battle he was going to win by a long shot. He loosened his tie a little further, then finally removed it all the way. It was getting too constricting, and all of this was still insane. How he had just suddenly dropped everything and driven to see a man in the hospital that he barely even remembered. The achingly familiar lines of Richie’s face etched into the haze of his memory that he didn’t care to push through too much.

It was all there, right on the tip of his tongue. A phrase one couldn’t really remember but one that would come to you a good while later causing you to shout it in triumph. He wanted to remember, he really did, but Eddie also just…didn’t care. There was no sitting to figure out the past, there was only moving forward towards whatever bleak future he had.

Eddie, quite honestly, had stopped seeing the point long ago. If he took one day at a time- survived one day at a time, then he would just make it somewhere eventually. After the first few weeks of college, the first few times attempting to run off on his own only to circle right back to his mother, he had given up trying.

Life was running on a treadmill in a sensory deprivation tank.

Nothing forwards, nothing back, just the slow and steady movement beneath his feet and the inevitability that one day he’d grow too tired to drudge onwards. When that day came, he’d just collapse into oblivion knowing that his life had been nothing except a stressful straight line of safety and security laced with the bitter taste of constant paranoia.

Men like Eddie didn’t get to want, or feel, or live. Men like Eddie took basic survival and living at face value as it was presented to them.

Men like Eddie had nice girlfriends they would marry and keep a steady job to support.

But now, there was an entirely different presentation being given before him in the slow rise and fall of Richie’s chest. In the features that Eddie somehow knew he had grown into.

In the heartbreakingly familiar constricting pain in his chest at something that he had once wished could have been but couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Maybe that was why he was here.

“…You should try and get a little more rest.” Eddie said, deciding the sediment of silence had settled long enough. “I talked to the nurses before you woke up. They’re gonna hold you overnight.”

He got to his feet finally, abandoning the chair and thoughts behind him. It was only one step towards Richie’s bedside, looking down at his now open eyes and studying his face in the silence.

“I feel like I could sleep for twenty years—” Richie was looking at him with an air of emotion that Eddie couldn’t quite place. It looked raw and vulnerable. Quite a different expression played out on his features that Eddie felt like he hadn’t seen in years and years.

The aching memory of a nerdy ass kid clambering gracelessly through his bedroom window surfaced- emotional and misty eyed that night.

None of them had ever spoken about it. Richie Tozier didn’t speak the language of emotion. At least not at that age.

At this age, the language read on his face, but the words appeared to be lost in his throat.

Without really thinking, Eddie reached out, carefully removing Richie’s glasses and folding them up to place them on the table once again. He took a slow breath, slightly shaking fingers trailing across Richie’s cheek and beneath the sharp square line of his jaw.

Richie couldn’t see him quite well, he knew that, but the shuddering breath drawn in and the heartachingly way he attempted to lean into his hand— only to jerk away quickly.

Eddie pulled back suddenly as if he had been burned, bringing his hand to his chest and holding it there as if to physically keep himself at bay.

“Sorry—I—” He swallowed hard, then backed up a step. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rich. When I get off work I’ll stop by—”

“You don’t have to its fine—”

“No. No. Shut the fuck up I’m going to, okay?” Eddie snapped at him, drawing in sudden sharp breath. He didn’t want to panic, but he had just basically caressed Richie’s cheek and he wasn’t quite sure why. Why the hell would he even do that? He wasn’t _gay_ for fucks sake. Richie wasn’t gay either anyways. Not with the way he had just pulled back.

“Listen. The hospital called me. _Me_—to come see your dumbass because you’ve got some piece of paper in your wallet with my name. My fucking _name_, Rich. So yeah! I’m gonna come by! Because that’s—I don’t quite know what that is yet and it’s honestly giving me a fucking migraine because I can’t think straight right now but it feels right and I’m—”

“_You’re_ giving me a fucking migraine.”

“Shut the _fuck _up. I’ll give you twenty migraines if you don’t shut the fuck up, asshole. I’m going to come by, okay? End of story. Goodbye. I gave them by cellphone and my work number for you, okay? So- see you tomorrow, and also fuck you.”

Richie stared up at the fuzzy outline of Eddie above where he lay, and gave a faint, crooked smile. Everything about that felt right. Right down to the crack of his voice that a twenty-something should not really have and the aggression that wasn’t quite that. Eddie was even panicking in a way that seemed just right.

Just _Eddie_.

“…Fuck you, Eds. See you tomorrow.” Richie finally consented, closing his eyes against the bright lights and sinking back into the swimming haze of his mind. He heard footsteps hurrying away with a quick and driven pace, but also a door that was shut with so much oddly sweet care that it nearly gave him a cavity.

\--

“So what? You’re gonna hang onto that number until you’re fucking ninety and you die from trying to do a kick flip?” Eddie challenged, laughing when Richie wrapped his arm around his shoulders and yanked him in, ruffling his hair despite the protests.

“That’s right, Spaghetti!” Richie said, giving a soft ‘ow’ as Eddie slapped at him, but laughed in turn as he let him go in order to dramatically drape himself across Eddie’s lap instead and grab his comic. “You’re the only one I’d trust to tell them to pull the plug—”

“Fuck off, Rich. Like I’d pull the plug on you.” Eddie looked down at him, smiling a little softer. He noticed the way the sunlight caught Richie’s hair and the curve of his shoulders in a way a seventeen-year-old boy shouldn’t.

“Gonna keep me alive for your selfish gain, Eds?”

“You know it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I can't believe I updated this fast but here we are! Once again- @acornandroid on Twitter. I love talking to you people!

Chapter 2 

_I go looking in the silence_

_Searching in the space between the trees_

_There are days when I find us_

_Lingering in the sunshine through the leaves_

_-Friendly Dark by **Ollie MN**_

By the time Eddie got back out to his car and checked his phone his voicemail box was full.

When he had failed to answer his mother’s call back, she had called Myra, who had begun to call him as well. He let out a slow breath, listening to the first two desperate and borderline demeaning messages before promptly deleting them all.

He made two calls from the parking lot- one to his mother, and one to Myra.

It two hours passed before he even got to start his car.

\--

One would have thought Eddie had been missing for months on end with the way he was received when he finally arrived home. Apparently, working late and not answering his phone for an hour was an end of the world situation. He had walked in to both his mother and his girlfriend sitting together in the front room.

Seeing them both in the same space still threw him a little bit, but he had gotten very good at not thinking about any similarities between the two.

The second he stepped in through the door he was bombarded. According to the current lecture, they had both been worried sick—this wasn’t like Eddie—he didn’t just take off like this—he always answered his phone—when they called the office the receptionist had said he had already left for the day.

Of course, they fucking called the office. He should have thought of that.

It was by the grace of whoever was listening from up above that Eddie had the time to think of multiple excuses during his ride back home. He knew the truth of going to see a childhood friend in the hospital that apparently still had the number to where he lived wouldn’t fly.

Mother had never really liked Richie anyways. That opinion wasn’t likely to change nearly ten years later.

“I’m sorry- I had already left and my phone died, then there was an accident on the turnpike—” Eddie barely finished his sentence before Myra grabbed his face, looking him over.

“You should have called, sweetheart. There’s callboxes for emergencies—” She was saying.

“No. The side of the road is even more dangerous. You need to keep your phone charged, Eddie Bear. I’ll get you a charge chord for work.” His mother was on his other arm, reaching up and smoothing her son’s hair back before moving to go add ‘charge chord’ to her shopping list on the fridge.

“Hey- I’m home now it’s fine, right?” He looked down at his girlfriend, studying her face for a small moment. Eddie’s chest felt tight with the sudden spark of anxiety at the disappoint behind her eyes. She was rubbing her thumbs over his cheekbones.

“No. It’s not fine, Eddie. We were worried sick. I want you to call again next time. This isn’t like you. You’re more responsible than this.” Myra has that stern look on her face, one that told him he had messed up and both her and mother had been talking about it for hours. “When you leave the office I want you to call me next time. Especially if your cell is dead. You’re smarter than this, Eddie.”

Her hands dropped to his shoulders, holding on tightly as if to keep him physically teathered to the spot. Eddie smiled tightly, trying to ignore how his heart was sinking down to the pit of his stomach. The look she leveled him told him to apologize.

He probably should. It was his fault anyways- _and _he was lying. The least he could do was apologize for the part that wasn’t true.

“…I’m sorry, Myra. It won’t happen again—” Eddie leaned in to kiss her cheek but missed as she immediately turned her head and pulled away.

“You’re right. It won’t.” She said, poking Eddie once in the chest before turning away and heading to help his mother with whatever she was now doing in the dining room.

Eddie was left standing there, gripping the bottom of his jacket in a tight hold, listening to the hushed, but not quite hushed, conversation pick up between his mother and girlfriend in the other room. 

He drew in a slow, shaking breath—let it out—and drew it back in. Eddie grabbed the inhaler from the inside pocket of his jacket and pressed it between his lips.

As the bitter taste of medicine filled his mouth he relaxed, letting his eyes slip closed as he carefully built back up his façade.

Eddie slipped out of his jacket and fully undid his tie before joining the two women in the dining room.

\--

That night, Eddie couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned, replaying all the events of that day. The memory of Richie that was growing frighteningly distant as more time passed with them apart.

When he closed his eyes, he could see him, but just barely. The soft smile playing on his tired face, the faint scratch of stubble against his fingertips for the brief second he brushed against his cheek. There had been that look in his eyes, aged and sad on his young, handsome face- a hint of desperation that hung thickly in the air between them that neither of them truly wanted to acknowledge. Eddie felt like he had a responsibility to be there- he felt as if he were in the same position that Richie would be at his side.

Someone so important that he could barely remember.

He let out a frustrated sound, kicking the blankets off of himself in a fit and sitting up. Eddie glared at the darkness of his room as if that were to blame. The faint outline of his clothes laid out for the next morning, the mocking red glow of his alarm clock telling him that he needed to be up in just six hours.

As he sat there thinking- lines creased into his forehead and eyebrows knit so tightly together they could make a sweater- something occurred to him.

Clambering out of bed as quietly as he could, Eddie’s sock covered feet carried him to the closet. With the practiced ease of one that was used to not waking his mother sleeping in the room next to his own he opened up the door and sat down on the floor.

It didn’t take long for him to find what he needed. The old and water damaged cardboard box crammed beneath his winter clothes and old college textbooks. Eddie extracted it from its isolated spot, pulling the box out into the fresh air for the first time in years.

There was a thin layer of dust coating the drop, and the scratch of a younger Eddie’s handwriting reading ‘PLEASE DON’T OPEN MOM’ on the top flap.

The tape that had been across the top was ripped, which caused Eddie to sigh. Of course, she had opened it. Who knows when that had happened though?

He pulled away the remaining tape and opened up the flaps of the box, peering into it in the dim moonlight of his room. The contents brought an unconscious fond smile to his lips, letting his fingers brush against the old worn fanny pack that rested right on top.

Eddie removed the black faux leather pack and set it aside, pulling out an old shoebox with a masking tape label reading ‘PICTURES’ across the top. Inside, Eddie found exactly what he was looking for.

There was a stack of photos there- he couldn’t remember when most of them were taken. Some were polaroid’s, and some had obviously been with a film camera and taken to be developed. Other kids were in these photos too.

Eddie frowned just a little to himself, shuffling through the stack slowly. Why was he having a hard time recalling names? There was the boy with glasses that was obviously Richie, and himself standing there in his shorts and polo shirts.

God, they both looked like such fucking nerds.

Or losers.

Huh.

Losers.

Eddie produced another photo, turning it around so it was right side up in his hands and staring at it for a moment. It was himself, Richie, and four other kids on what looked to be some kind of farmland. Richie had his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie looked far too comfortable leaning into him. There was writing on the top of the photo in black marker.

‘MIKE’S B-DAY 1992’

“Holy shit.” Eddie breathed, spotting Mike immediately in the photo now that he had the name before him. That was Mike right there—and there was Stan, standing close to—to— Bill! That was Bill, and there was Ben.

Someone was missing, but Eddie couldn’t place it.

It made his heart hurt that he couldn’t place it.

There was himself, Richie, Bill, Stanley, Mike, Ben, and…there was another person—someone important. He could remember cigarette smoke and long conversations. He could remember--

Eddie heard the floor creek in the hall and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Acting like a child past their bedtime, Eddie shoved everything back into the shoebox quickly. He pushed the box back into the closet and got to his feet, nearly tripping over the fanny pack that was still on the floor. Cursing under his breath, he promptly kicked it under the bed and shoved the shoebox of photos under his work shirt on the nightstand before jumping back under the covers.

The hall light clicked on, the mocking yellow glow peeking through the crack under his door as he held his breath.

Eddie listened to his mother’s footsteps go by—and a few minutes later track back to her room again—the light shutting off.

Cheeks burning in embarrassment for no one to see, he rolled onto his back and pulled the covers up to his nose. That was fucking stupid- he was twenty-four for fucks sake. Not twelve and staying up with a comic book and a flashlight under the covers.

Still—he didn’t want mom to catch him up late.

It was the principal of the thing.

\--

Richie was feeling better on the second day.

Which meant he was bored out of his fucking mind.

They were still working on rehydrating him or whatever-the-fuck medical mumbo jumbo, and yeah, he felt like he was having the worst hangover in existence, but also there was nothing to _do _in this hospital besides watch shitty television. After the fourth episode of _Friends_ and the second episode of _The Sopranos_ Richie found his mind drifting to unpleasant things.

This would normally be the moment when he grabbed a rum and coke, but this was a hospital and they apparently were intensely against any form of self-prescribed anti-depressants.

No, instead of distancing himself from any mental turmoil again Richie was left to lay in the hospital bed, space out to whatever the fuck Ross was doing on the TV, and replay Claire’s words over and over in his mind.

He shifted, uncomfortable both in the mental and the physical space. It didn’t take long for his gaze to be drawn to the empty chair that was stuck in the room. Richie blinked slowly at it, giving his pounding head time to catch up to what he wanted to be thinking.

Eddie was in that chair last night.

Eddie Kaspbrak—Eddie Spaghetti—The Eds—Cutie Patootie—Little Pasta Dish—

Richie frowned just a little, slightly off put by the blossoming warmth in his chest and butterflies taking up unwanted residence in his stomach.

They had been best friends. They had grown up together—him, Eddie, and the others. Of course, there were others.

Huh.

Richie decided that was too much of a problem to think of and gave up fairly quickly. He was in the process of looking back towards the TV when there was frantic, rapid knocking at the door before it was immediately pushed open.

“I found _pictures_—” Eddie hustled into the room, holding his jacket over his shoulder and a battered shoebox in the other hand. “Last night I just remembered that I had all these things from when I was a kid and there was a huge box of pictures—”

“Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker, Eds. You’re in a goddamn hospital show some respect.” Richie pulled a little bit of a face at the loud ranting. “I’m on day-o dos of a hangover so I’m gonna need you to chill out.”

Eddie was—oh hell—Eddie was sitting on the edge of his bed this time the second Richie pushed himself to sit up a little more. He was already opening the shoebox and dropping the lid to the floor, shuffling through it like a madman.

“You gave yourself alcohol poisoning- that forfeits all right to any sympathetic hangover nonsense.” He said, none the wiser to Richie’s small freak out as his heart skipped in his chest. From this current spot Eddie was basically sitting against Richie’s leg.

_Oh, so you were just making out with a guy—_

Richie took a deep breath, shoving that sudden thought away to be dealt with later.

(That was a lie. He wasn’t going to deal with it. Not if he could help it. Not now—not ever.)

He reached out, picking up one of the pictures that Eddie had set aside. The laugh that pushed past his lips was sudden and soft. “Holy shit. I forgot about your fucking shorts—” Richie snorted.

It was Eddie, looking young and stupid with a big grin on his face. He had his arm around another boy with blonde curly hair, looking less than amused with a frown that seemed to fit his face. Richie’s amusement faded slowly, his face creasing in concentration as he stared at the photo.

He should know who that was, he really should.

Before he had much more of a chance to think on it, there was another picture being shoved in his face.

“You’re gonna break my fucking nose—” Riche complained, grabbing the picture out of Eddie’s hand with a little more force than necessary and looking down at it.

“Mike’s birthday—1992.” Eddie said over him, tapping the photo relentlessly with his pointer finger until Riche pulled it out of his reach. “Do you remember that? We went down to Mike’s farm and—”

“…I drove you.” Richie said, “Holy shit, yeah. I drove you in my shitty truck and then you had to drive back because I had one drink and you wouldn’t let me behind the wheel, but you didn’t know stick…”

“…I didn’t remember that part.” Eddie murmured, shifting to look at the photo in Richie’s hand. It put him a little too close to Richie’s face for comfort, causing him to hold his breath. “But that—that’s us. We had a bunch of friends…”

“No, we had like, maybe six.”

“That’s a lot, Rich!”

“Six is a small number. You know what’s a big number? Twelve.”

“Why is having twelve friends better than six? That’s only a six-number difference—”

“Well having a twelve-inch dick is better than a six inch—”

“Don’t compare friends to dick length! What the fuck, man.”

Richie snorted out a laugh, reaching over and pushing Eddie away from his face a little. “Wow. I can’t believe I forgot all about this. It’s still a little fuzzy.”

“Yeah. Same for me…” Eddie looked up at him, studying Richie’s face for a small moment. There was hesitation in meeting Eddie’s gaze, but he did eventually. They shared a measured look, searching one another for unspoken answers.

“Wait—didn’t you have work today?” Richie said, suddenly, trying to break the odd tension that had settled between them before he did something fucking stupid.

Eddie made a little bit of a face, looking back down at the photos in the box and starting to sort through them slowly. “Yeah. I left early though.”

“Why? So, your mom wouldn’t call you again when you miss curfew?”

“I fucking hate that you heard that.”

For some reason, Eddie looked genuinely upset. Richie frowned a little as he tried to figure it out. He wasn’t good on the emotional front, and he didn’t want to be. For some reason though he felt like trying.

For Eddie.

“…So, you still live with your mom and shit?” He watched Eddie’s hands move in the box of memories, keeping an eye on how he was sorting the photographs.

“Yeah—it’s just cheaper that way. New York is too fucking expensive. It’s not like I haven’t tried to live on my own! I have! But Myra and I are saving for our own place so—”

“Wait- hold up—who the fuck is _Myra_?”

Eddie stopped immediately once the question was posed, glancing back up at the man sitting in the bed.

“Oh. She’s my girlfriend.”

Riche snorted immediately, “You got a fucking _girlfriend_? Like- an actual female girlfriend?”

“Fuck you, man.” Eddie made another face, grabbing the lid to the box and shoving it back on. “Yeah, I have a fucking girlfriend.”

“What? Did, like, your mom introduce you two?”

Eddie’s silence was all the answer he needed.

Richie gave a sudden, barking laugh. “Holy shit! She did! Your mom introduced you to your fucking _girlfriend! _Do her and Mrs. K have brunch too? Swap embarrassing stories about you? I bet they swap baby pictures too—”

“You know I don’t _have _to be here, right? I showed up for your sorry ass.”

“Do they do book club and stuff too?”

“Actually- yes. She’s the daughter of one of the ladies in mom’s book club—and we’re very…happy.”

Eddie hesitated in a way that made Richie’s heart unexpectedly lurch into a void. He watched Eddie- watched the wrinkles deepen on his young face as he got to his feet and moved to sit in the chair provided instead.

Richie already missed his warmth.

“Oh yeah you sound real fucking happy, Eds.” Richie glanced over at the photo still left on the bed, forgotten. The one of Eddie and the boy he couldn’t name. He carefully covered it with the blanket as subtly as he could.

There was no way Eddie would miss _one _photo.

“She was just pissed at me last night, that’s all.”

“What? So, no getting laid?”

“Fuck off, asshole.”

“No no- come one. I wanna hear about how sweet that mom’s friend book club sex life is—”

“We’re waiting until marriage.”

“Oh my _fucking _god—”

“That’s not funny! It’s a normal thing!”

“Since when were you any sort of religious waiting till marriage standard—”

“Since I fucked your sister, now fuck off.”

Richie was laughing quietly to himself. He had nearly forgotten how fun it was to rile Eddie up as much as he could.

“Okay, okay. Waiting till marriage. So why was she pissed at you last night then?” Richie said, switching lanes on the subject but staying on the same road. He wanted to know more about whoever this Myra was and why Eddie was dating her.

Not for any reason important- just chatting. That’s all.

“…Cause I didn’t call to tell her when I would be home.” Eddie started loosening his tie, letting out a long breath.

“Wait- are we still talking about your girlfriend or your mom now?”

Eddie glared at him, yanking his tie off and draping it over the back of the chair with his jacket. “My girlfriend, asshole.”

“What the fuck. Didn’t you just tell her you were visiting a friend in the hospital?”

“No—I said I stayed late at work—”

“Dude—”

“Can we just _stop _talking about this?!” Eddie slapped his hands down onto his thighs, gripping his pants tightly. “Just fucking stop- I’m done talking about this, okay?”

“Okay- shit- fine. We’re done talking about it.” Richie said, relenting for once in his life. He didn’t expect to see Eddie more or less explode from what he determined to be some light ribbing and nothing more, but it had just happened.

The silence that settled between them was awkward at best. It caused Richie to move around restlessly, listening to Eddie even out his breathing from the spot just a foot away. He should probably change the subject to be honest, get Eddie talking about something else, or else he might leave.

Richie really didn’t want him to leave.

“So…what do you do that makes you all Wall Street casual now?”

\--

Eddie fell back into talking with Richie as easily as breathing. He had told him all about his life, about his college and his job, what got him to where he was today. There was gentle ribbing here and there, even the ‘your mom’ jokes that Eddie had found himself surprisingly missing, though he would never admit that out loud.

He had gently pressed Richie to tell him his own tale, listening patiently and chiming in excitedly every now and again. Learning all about how Richie had eventually picked a philosophy major as a big ‘fuck you’ to anyone and everyone. The guy had the grades for it anyways. He had dropped out of UCLA a year short of graduating and was now heading around the country with an improv group. There was Claire, that he had been seeing for a few months, though that was over now.

They had caught up. Actually, caught up. Exchanged numbers, where they were currently living, the whole nine yards. 

Then, in the safety of the room and the security net by the name of Edward Kaspbrack, Richie let it slip. He really hadn’t meant to, but it happened.

“Nah, Clair, uh, she broke up with me the other night, I’m pretty sure.” Richie muttered, his fingers now picking at the blanket that was draped across his lap. They had shifted during the talk. Eddie had found his way back onto the hospital bed once again, shoes off and legs crossed directly across from Richie.

“Fuck, really? Why?” Eddie leaned his chin against his fist, watching Richie intently. It was hard to miss how he suddenly locked up.

“Just—it was fucking stupid. I got really fucking wasted.”

Eddie merely frowned, “So she broke up with you because you got wasted?”

“No—I got wasted and I kissed someone at the bar.” Richie felt himself withering away slowly. He wanted to escape the room suddenly, the entire planet actually, but Eddie was pressing still.

“Dude- you fucking cheated on your girlfriend? So, you got wasted and kissed another fucking girl—”

“It wasn’t a fucking girl, Eds. Alright?” Richie snapped, scowling down at the blanket.

The silence that fell between them suddenly made Richie’s ears give that familiar ring. He could hear it rattling his brain and shortening his breath. His palms grew sweaty, and he was happy he wasn’t hooked up to a heart monitor or else the nurses would be rushing in here.

_\--you are such a two-faced fucking faggot, Richie!_

“Okay.” Eddie’s voice snapped him out of it. Richie looked up at him so quickly Eddie feared he may have given himself whiplash.

“Okay? Just fucking okay, Eds? I kissed another fucking guy—I’m not fucking _gay_—”

“I never said you were.”

Eddie was calm. Too calm. It made Richie’s skin crawl. He wanted to reach across and shake him or smack some sense into him.

“But—” Eddie was still going. Why the fuck was he still going? “It’s okay if you are. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

They were so close. Fuck, they were so close. Eddie was sitting right across from him on a small hospital bed- Richie was hyper aware of his knees pressed against his own. In Eddie’s eyes there was nothing wrong with being gay apparently, he had just said it himself. Richie’s eyes flickered down to his lips quickly- they were still moving but he wasn’t entirely listening.

He felt like doing something stupid suddenly, ignoring all his mental sirens.

Richie Tozier was the king of doing something stupid.

“—the guy that works down in the call center is gay. He’s really nice. He brought his boyfriend into work once so, like, I know gay people and there’s nothing wrong with being one—” Eddie’s sentence was cut off by the sudden connection of Richie’s lips against his own.

Eddie froze entirely. His heart stopped in his chest and his words died in his throat. Richie’s mouth was on his—Richie Tozier’s mouth was on his and he didn’t know what to do.

Richie Tozier was kissing him, and he could suddenly remember the sun and the trees, the Barrens—sneaking into each other’s rooms at night and talking long into the early morning. Just laying together, not quite touching, because boys didn’t touch each other once they were teens.

He could remember riding their bikes through the town. The one time that his tire broke and he sat up on the handlebars of Richie’s bike in order to ride down to the general store, screaming the whole way for him to slow down while the other boy cackled like a madman behind him.

He remembered scraped knees and broken hearts. He remembered the day they both went off to college- vowing to write and call.

Eddie remembered the letters that never came—but he had never remembered to send any himself.

The spell didn’t last very long- Eddie jolted back as if he had been burned, scrambling and falling off the bed. It took him all of two seconds to get to his feet, putting as much distance between himself and Richie as he could. His lungs constricted in his chest and his breath came short.

“Dude—_I’m _not fucking gay—I’m not—I—” Eddie patted around his person, then ran over to his jacket, grabbing out the inhaler as fast as he could and taking a deep, gasping breath from it. “I have a _girlfriend_, Richie! I said it was okay that you were I—”

He was hyperventilating, looking over in horror as Richie decided that now would be a good time to pull the IV out _himself _and get to his feet.

“Eddie—hey—shit, hey. Calm down its okay—I’m sorry, I just thought—”

“Yeah you _thought_—you fucking _thought_—_shit_!” He scrambled to put the inhaler to his mouth again, but Richie was fighting to grab his hands with just as much force.

“Shh—shh—breathe, Eddie. You don’t need that, remember? Just breathe—” Richie was trying to sooth him. The guilt in his voice was nearly tangible. It hurt Eddie like a hand around the heart, squeezing hard enough to make him squirm.

He fought still, but it was weaker, his balance shifting as he fell into Richie as if the universe had decided to give him just one final push.

Eddie’s head naturally pressed to Richie’s chest, tucked right beneath his chin, listening to the steady thrum of his heart and feeling the warmth of his arms. He felt…grounded and safe. It felt good- it felt right in a way that made his gut churn like a river overflowing its banks.

What felt like hours passed before he began to come down, matching his breath to the slow movement of Richie’s hand up and down his back.

“…did you remember?” Richie murmured; his nose pressed lightly to his hair. He could feel his breath brushing over the strands softly.

“…Yeah. Yeah I remember you.” 

They stood like that in silence for a few moments more. The feeling hanging in the air between them was mutually confusing. The palpable guilt of what they had just done- the selfish desire for more, but the mind-numbing confusion of deciding whether or not to take that step.

Eddie shifted, lifting his head to look up at Richie and finding him already waiting to meet his gaze.

In the sudden, nonsensical course of action- Eddie stood on his toes, pressing his mouth against Richie’s in a less startling kiss. It was slow this time, it lingered and seared and felt tooth achingly sweet and—

Eddie pulled back suddenly, feeling sick to his stomach.

“I—”

“It’s okay, Eds.”

Richie stared at him, and Eddie stared right back.

Something had just changed. A shift in the wind- the sails changing the course of their voyage.

Eddie wasn’t quite sure how to deal with change.

He took one step back, and then another, deciding the best course of action was to gather his jacket and his tie, put on his shoes, and scoop up the box of photos. Eddie’s heart was in his throat, and he felt like he wanted to collapse into the center of the earth, but at the same time—

Shaking himself, Eddie tucked his feet into his shoes and shrugged on his jacket while juggling the things in his arms He turned to look at Richie, who was still rooted to the spot in the middle of the room.

“I, uh…” Eddie cleared his throat, “I’m gonna head out. I’ll talk to the nurse cause you pulled out your fucking IV like a moron—”

Richie, still staring at him, nodded distantly. “…Alright. Fair’s fair—but snitches get stitches.”

He laughed weakly at the remark, only mildly panicking still.

(A complete lie. Eddie was _violently _panicking.)

Eddie opened his mouth—closed it—and then quickly escaped the room, leaving Richie to stand alone in the silence with the TV playing whatever garbage he had left on quietly in the background.

As soon as the door shut, he stepped over to the bed, pulling back the blankets to crawl back under them and disappear. There was a soft fluttering sound as something slid onto the floor, bumping against Richie’s foot.

When he looked down, he saw the picture, leaning over and picking it up with shaking hands. There stood Eddie and Stanley—fuck, _Stanley_. Both of them fifteen years old.

Richie had just gotten that camera after saving up all his money from odd jobs here and there. He had insisted on taking pictures of all the Losers. Stanley had hated the idea—Eddie smiled for the first ten of the photos before he quickly grew annoyed when Richie decided to play paparazzi.

The picture shook violently in Richie’s hand, as unsteady as the wet laugh that left his lips. He wiped his eyes under his glasses, sitting back down on the bed as slowly as he could and not taking his eyes off the photo.

His cellphone buzzed on the bedside table- Eddie’s contact that he had saved earlier flashing across the small screen. Richie reached for it and flipped it open, staring at the pixelated words.

**[Text: Spaghetts]: **nurse said u can b discharged 2morrow. Will pic u up after work

Richie stared at the message for a moment longer, then flipped his phone closed and held it close to his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! Its taking a way different turn than my notes originally planned out but I'm rolling with it!   
Talk to me on Twitter! @acornandroid


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *spongebob 'imagination' hand motion* Repressiooooooon 
> 
> wow a lot happens in this one, and now it might be longer than 6 chapters who knows

Chapter 3 

_ _

_I don't really give a damn about the way you touch me_

_When we're alone_

_You can hold my hand_

_If no one's home_

_Do you like it when I'm away?_

_If I went and hurt my body baby_

_Would you love me the same?_

_\- Line Without a Hook _ _by **Ricky Montgomery**_

Eddie had easily worked himself into a complete state of panic in less than twelve hours.

The night before he had been kissed by someone who wasn’t his girlfriend.

That someone also happened to be a man.

A man he had grown up with in hazy memory.

A man that he had kissed back without really thinking.

Also- a man that he kinda sorta wanted to kiss again, which was a startling and gut sinking thought.

Eddie wasn’t sure what to do with the dawning realization that not only was he intensely into Richie in a way that made his stomach lurch and his heart constrict, but also with another factor thrown in that he wasn’t attracted to his girlfriend like he was supposed to be.

In fact, he wasn’t attracted to Myra—_at all_.

He had always labeled himself as straight with intensity. Written across the ‘Hello, my name is’ sticker tag of his life in bold sharpie and all capital letters in hopes that if he made it permanent enough it would stick.

Suddenly, here came an angel (or a demon, depending on what side he wanted to look at it) with a blank label for him to fill out as he so desired. Or to even leave it blank if he wanted to.

The chaotic fog of his panicking mind followed him into work the next day. It hung over him like an intense rain cloud of self-doubt and self-re-discovery.

Upon closer inner introspection, it probably couldn’t be marked as re-discovery when it was suddenly thrown into perspective that Eddie never discovered who he was to begin with.

After the fourth use of his inhaler at his desk in the last few hours and the slow realization that he might be annoying the other people in the office Eddie decided to take his lunch break a little earlier. He got up from his desk, heading out of his cubicle and down the stairs to the break room that was used by everyone in the building.

As if it were some divine sign, there was only one other person in the break room—and it just so happened to be someone that could hopefully have a few answers to Eddie’s pressing panicked questions.

“Hi, Chris.” Eddie sat himself down at the table quickly, right across from Christopher who worked down in the call center. He was a redhead with a little bit of scruff, and normally had his nose in a book whenever he took his lunch break.

He was also the only openly gay man Eddie knew.

“Oh, uh...Hi.” Christopher marked his place in his book before closing it politely, regarding Eddie with an air of caution at the randomly started conversation. “It’s...Edward, right?”

“Yeah- yeah, call me Eddie. Can I ask you a question?” Eddie’s foot was bouncing rapidly under the table, shaking it slightly. Chris must have noticed judging by the slight frown on his lips and the movement to pick his coffee mug up from the wobbling surface.

“Sure? Is it about the new policy? Because—“

“When did you know you were gay?”

There was a short moment when Chris sat back to process what had just been blurted out as an anxious brain dump disguised as a question. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to these sorts of questions, sadly they weren’t exactly out of the norm. He was an openly gay man and had been living that way since his late teens. People asked all sorts of things- some with malicious intent and some with curiosity.

The way Eddie asked this question leaned towards the curiosity side of the spectrum with a hint of desperation for self-discovery was the only thing that made him a little less cautious.

Also, just by looking his coworker over he practically radiated ‘sexuality crisis’ on all levels.

He leaned forward a little, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the mug back down onto the trembling table. Eddie was watching his every movement with the tension of a gazelle ready to bolt at the first sign of danger held in his muscles. “Well—when I knew I wasn’t interested in women or when I started dating men?”

“There’s a difference?” Eddie looked like he was about to faint, but whenever Chris had passed the offices on the second floor Eddie had always looked like that.

“Please don’t…have an aneurysm while I’m talking about this.” Christopher pushed a hand through his hair, mentally preparing himself to walk this living, breathing panic attack through a difficult moment of introspection. “When I was fourteen, I didn’t want to date girls. I came out with I was sixteen- but only because my mom cornered me into it and was okay with it. Everyone’s different. Then…I didn’t start dating men until I was eighteen.”

“That…That’s a lot.”

“That’s just a timeline. My personal timeline. Everyone’s different.”

Eddie sat back, folding his arms over his chest and tucking his hands into his armpits. The action hunched his shoulders up, making the man that Christopher only ever saw in passing at work look more like a pouting child than someone that the call center relied on for statistics.

“So…are you--?”

“I’m asking for a friend!” Eddie sat up so quickly he nearly smacked the table.

Christopher, who had just set his coffee mug down, picked it up once more very quickly as the table jostled. He raised an eyebrow, then subtly cleared his throat and pulled his book back over to himself.

“Okay. For a friend.” He clarified, though he didn’t buy it in the slightest.

Everyone had a ‘friend’.

Also, Eddie’s hair was always perfectly styled, and he had a very specific order about his…everything.

Though Chris tried to stray away from stereotyping others.

“Well—I’m pretty sure things may turn out okay for this friend of yours, if he’s realizing he’s gay or something.” Chris hid his smile behind his coffee mug, watching Eddie’s internal panic leak outwardly before his shoulders finally eased somewhat.

“Yeah he’s…not really having a fun time.” Eddie cleared his throat, then carefully got to his feet, pushing the chair back into its spot thoughtfully.

“Thanks, Chris.”

“No problem.”

\--

Getting discharged was thankfully not as much of a hassle as Richie thought it would have been. He followed Eddie out to his car in the parking lot, both of them stuck in this odd in between of silence and unspoken words.

They had kissed last night, and so far, neither of them was talking about it.

Richie wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting. Part of him thought there would be a grand gesture and they would be making out in the hospital room for an hour straight until they were caught by a nurse. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure where that part came from.

Eddie was only the second boy he had kissed within one week. It was odd to think about- it made his head spin and hurt in ways he had forgotten about.

The way Eddie’s lips had felt against his own, the warming of his heart at the photographs. The photo he had selfishly taken, now safely tucked into his wallet where he wouldn’t lose it, nor where Eddie would find it.

What was he even supposed to do with that moment? Was he just supposed to forget about it the way Eddie seemed to be doing? Or was _he _himself supposed to react and initiate something else.

Then again, it had only been a few moments, and Richie had only _just _gotten into Eddie’s car and pulled on his seatbelt.

He supposed that maybe the heavy weight of emotional repression would take more than ten minutes to shuck off.

“Where am I taking you?” Eddie asked finally, his voice cutting through Richie’s neutral face and mental panic.

“You can just take me back to the hotel…I think I still got a room there.” Richie pulled the flip phone out of his pocket and flicked it open, staring at the couple of messages from Claire and promptly snapping the phone closed again.

“You _think _you have a room there? I’m not dropping you anywhere where you don’t have a room, Rich.”

“Well I don’t know. I’m sure they’ve got another one- or something happened with my luggage and shit. Just take me by there and I’ll figure it out.”

Eddie gave him a look but seemed to relent finally as they didn’t have another option of somewhere to go.

“Fine. Where is it?” Eddie started the car up, turning around to look over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking spot carefully.

“On twenty-second?”

“Of course you’re staying in the city—fucking Christ its rush hour too.” He pulled a grumpy little face.

Richie stared at it for far too long.

The silence that washed over them both was far from comfortable. Richie could practically _feel _Eddie’s desire to squirm in his seat, and Richie was seconds away from climbing out the window and pitching himself out onto the street. When the thin layer of quiet settling over the space became too much Eddie reached out and flicked on the radio, hitting one of the preset buttons to sequence it to the right channel.

His grip adjusted on the steering wheel and he rolled his shoulders to try and relax.

Eddie’s tension only increased as the drive continued. New York during rush hour was a force to be reckoned with.

Richie had a vague memory of Eddie’s pure and unbridled rage, but he had yet to see it in full and complete force behind the wheel of a car that was much too big for a man of his size.

Partnered with the fact that neither of them was saying _anything _about the night previous made the situation all the more uncomfortable.

After another whole sixty seconds of silence following Eddie yelling at someone cutting into his lane, Richie reached over and flicked the radio station. He was tired of sitting still just thinking- it made his mind spin and made the bubbling urge for a drink even more insistent.

Eddie shot him a look, then reached out and flicked the radio back.

It was a dated classic rock station that Eddie, for some reason, was hell bent on. Aerosmith and AC/DC filled the car, and quite possible, fueled Eddie’s rage as well. Richie started at him for a thirty second guitar solo- then reached out and flicked the radio back to the top 40s.

“_Dude_—” Eddie reached out and flicked it back, then swatted Richie’s hand the second he moved it forward again. 

“Ow! Quit hitting me—“

“Then quit changing the music. It isn’t your car.”

Richie pulled his hand back to his chest, pouting and playing wounded.

“Oh my god stop pouting- I hit you once and it wasn’t even that hard.” Eddie leaned forward to look at the street signs as they passed, finally flicking on his turn signal and moving to make a right-hand turn.

Someone blared on their horn, and Eddie held his middle finger up loud and proud over the center consul.

The silence lapsed again- and Richie had about had enough.

He took a deep breath.

“So…” Richie muttered, flipping his phone open and closed- open and closed- open and closed.

Eddie seemed to tense (if he could actually tense any more than he already was) but didn’t spare Richie a glance. He kept his eyes focused on the traffic.

“So?”

“…Are we gonna--?”

Panic flared in Eddie’s chest. His heart constricted and his pulse jumped. His lungs felt like they would collapse in on themselves within a millisecond, but he was _driving _and couldn’t reach for his inhaler.

“Talk about last night?” Eddie cut him off. If he had been looking, he would have seen the color drain from Richie’s face. “Richie. Listen. It was just—I didn’t really remember you and then I did and when I did it was so much and you just— Myra-- I have a _girlfriend, _okay?”

Richie listened, feeling that familiar stone form in his stomach.

“Yeah, well, I did too.” He said, though it came out as more of a snappish remark than he wanted.

Both of them had their heckles raised.

Neither of them knew what they were doing.

“Did too _what_?” Eddie’s hands moved on the steering wheel again. His breath sharpened, then slowed, and he shifted in his seat.

“Had a girlfriend, you fucking idiot.” Richie cleared his throat, still playing with his phone.

Open and close—

Open and close—

Open and close—

“Yeah but, like, you’re—you’re—so that didn’t count.” Eddie snapped his jaw closed. The clicking nose of the flip phone was becoming too much. The foot that Eddie didn’t have on the pedals bounced up and down frantically.

“I’m _what, _Eds? Fucking say it. Stop skirting around it like you’re fucking scared of it—”

“You’re gay.”

Even though he was braced for it, even though Richie himself had egged him on, he didn’t expect it. It was still a hard pill to swallow and he didn’t know why. A new realization, or an old one he had buried so deep within the earth of his mind that he never expected to find it below the bedrock.

But he knew it was there.

He had always known.

It was just…forgotten. Pleasantly shoved behind the curtain of a buzz and a high, there to be seen but not heard.

Noticed, but not acknowledged.

A new paint job on a moldy wall—a temporary fix.

Richie swallowed his pride, and his self-taught self-hatred, and straightened his posture.

“Yeah. Okay- yeah I am. I’m fucking gay, Eds. And you know what? It fucking sucks, but I’m gonna roll with it I guess. What else am I going to do?”

“Well—”

“No. Shut up.”

It hurt to see Eddie clam up after he snapped, but Richie didn’t take it back.

Instead, he forged forward.

“Because—I know you’re looking to avoid this for some reason. Maybe it’s the girlfriend thing, I don’t know—but last night felt _right_, okay? It felt like there was something missing and I found it. I don’t know how I forgot you- I don’t know why I still can’t _really _remember you, but I know that…it felt right. That’s the only way I can put it.”

Eddie pulled up in front of the hotel finally, flicking on his hazards and staying at the curb. He scrambled then, patting around his jacket furiously before producing his inhaler from the inside pocket.

Richie stared, unable to take his eyes off him as he stuck the aspirator to his lips and inhaled deep. He felt bad for causing this- but it needed to be said. The last thing he wanted was for it to fester- to sit unopened and sealed in his heart and poison him from the inside out.

He might as well tackle it and get the heartbreak out of the way now.

For some reason, after he had kissed Eddie- after he had seen the photos and remembered the trees and the laughter—he was tired of bottling it up.

It was complicated.

“…didn’t you feel it?” Richie tried to press, swallowing past the bile in his throat that bubbled with his unease. “You kissed me after—”

“Yeah—I know I fucking kissed you, Richie! I was the one that fucking did it--!”

“But _do you _though? Do you know?”

Eddie held his inhaler in a shaking hand, bent forward over the steering wheel with it pressed to his forehead. The mocking clicks of the car’s hazards’ out of tempo with the music on the radio.

“It was…” Eddie swallowed his pain. His fragile pride, his life carefully constructed by the hands of his mother. Her thoughts, her beliefs, her opinions, her remarks—

He shook with it. The unknown and the terrifying. The realizations he had either never had or always ignored, he couldn’t quite tell. They had come to a head last night and hadn’t stopped coming since.

The dreams he had clicking into place- late night fantasies of a faceless man with broad shoulders and snarky remarks. The pair of them doing things he would never mention—things that made his cheeks burn and looking at his girlfriend the next day difficult.

All the things he had carefully packaged, sorted, and labeled coming tumbling out from the storage space in his mind and spilling their contents on the floor for all to see. Worse than when he spoke to Chris before.

With a trembling breath and closed eyes, he braced himself the what he was about to say.

Nip it at the bud. Stop it before it gets too far.

Like going to the doctor before a simple blemish became something much bigger.

“It was a mistake, Richie.” Eddie said, unable to look at him as his heart broke anew. He didn’t know why he felt this way about a man he grew up with. A man he only really knew for a few days, despite what the shoebox hidden in his closet would say. “Last night. I shouldn’t have done that. I wasn’t thinking and it was—it was just a fluke. I have a girlfriend. I’m not even—I’m not even gay. I’m just…not.”

In the seat beside him, Richie had gone deathly quiet. Just the clicking and the music and the distant sounds of New York outside of their bubble of emotional turmoil.

After a moment, the sound of a seatbelt being unfastened pierced through the tension and tightened it, and Richie shifted to reach for the door.

“Right. A mistake. Thanks for the ride.” Richie pushed the car door open and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Everything felt like a sudden distant echo. The edges of his vision blurred and tunneled. By the time Eddie turned his head to look at the hotel, he was gone.

Eddie’s hand shook as he clicked off his hazards and put his car into gear. His breath hitched as he pulled back onto the street.

His heart stopped at the red light and the air constricted in his lungs as the light turned green.

He didn’t move.

The car horn sounded behind him- loud and blaring as someone stomped their hand on it hard enough to leave it going. Muffled shouts and furious commuters.

Eddie wiped his eyes hurriedly, and quickly stomped his foot onto the gas, taking an illegal turn onto the highway home.

\--

“Traffic seems to be getting worse and worse these days. Probably since its nearing winter— you really ought to try and see if you can work from home when it starts snowing, Eddie Bear. I don’t like it when you’re out there in that big ol’ car on the road. Wouldn’t it be nice to work from home too? I can clean out the office for you—”

Eddie felt numb as he tuned his mother out. A sickening churn of his stomach as he replayed the events over and over.

Richie had kissed him first, yes, but the second time…

That had been all him. He had gone for it and just kissed another _man_ of all people. But he wasn’t gay—right? Yet, when he had closed his eyes and leaned in, he had felt the wind in his hair- sprinting through the trees without a care.

And laughing.

Feeling free.

But that was part of the problem.

He _wasn’t _free. Not when something like being gay would break his mother’s heart and most certainly end things with Myra almost immediately.

Men who were gay didn’t have girlfriends.

Speaking of-- he looked up at his girlfriend across the table, staring at her without entirely meaning to. The roundness to her cheeks and the pinched expression on her face as she nodded along to each and everything his mother was saying.

Myra thought him working from home was a good idea too.

Eddie _hated _the idea.

Work was his only time out of the house. It was the only place they both weren’t permitted. Sure, his mother called in more often than she should, and Myra had been trying to pressure him into meeting her for lunch every single day, but it was _his _space.

The job hadn’t been his _choice_, but that didn’t matter anymore. It was a dull gray box in a dull gray office punching numbers into a dull gray computer and working out statistics on a scratch sheet of paper when he wanted to kill time.

But it was his space away from his mother and his girlfriend where he could fucking _breathe _for once in his goddamn life without someone either handing him a fistful of pills or telling him to go lay down.

“Honey?”

Eddie swallowed past the lump in his throat as he thought, watching his girlfriend’s mouth move but not registering the sound. He hated being here the more he thought about it. He felt tense and sweaty under his collar—and the way she was looking at him—like she somehow knew he had kissed Richie just last night.

Like she knew that he wanted to do more things with Richie than just kissing.

He had never felt that way about someone before.

“Eddie, sweetie.” Myra continued, “Honey—you look pale, are you alright?”

He breathed in shakily, straightening up and tugging at the collar of his shirt as it grew tight. “Yeah—sorry, yeah I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

He should have chosen his words more carefully, or thought of a better excuse, because the simple brush off set both the women on him.

“You’re working too much.” His mother started, putting her fork down finally and reaching over to feel his forehead. Eddie made a little bit of a face but didn’t pull away. “You’re burning up—you need to take tomorrow off.”

“Mom—I’m _not _burning up. Jesus- I feel fine, okay? I’m just tired—”

“You should listen to her, Eddie. She’s right.” Myra started backing her up immediately, which made Eddie feel cornered in two seconds flat. He could barely stand up to his mother, and when the two of them got going it was purely impossible.

Eddie tried to laugh it off, but it came out as more of a halfhearted huff of a sigh. “Honest. It was just a long drive that’s all…”

“You should leave early tomorrow.” Myra said, “At lunch. I can come pick you up.”

“Perfect—” His mother agreed, “I’ll drive you in and it’ll be fine. You can get your work done and then come home and rest and stay in for the weekend, how does that sound? No going out or anything—your immune system is weak as it is, Eddie bear. Anything can get you really sick—”

“I’m not a _fucking _baby, mom.” Eddie snapped suddenly, all but throwing his fork down and causing the two women to shut their mouths in shock. He looked between them, taking a deep breath as his brain thought up images of Richie laughing with his stupid glasses and climbing in his bedroom window. Images of him and their friends (though the rest of them still seemed slightly blurry in his mind’s eye), running through the mud and skinning knees and elbows on the pavement. A whispered moment in the night telling him to stand his ground—a hand gripping his own in a way that made his heart ache at the realization that he couldn’t fully remember.

He gathered his mental footing and picked up the scattered scraps of his courage.

There was no way he was going to be able to look either Myra or his mother in the eye as he said it but gathering up his plate and his glass and getting to his feet was message enough.

“I’m sorry. I’m just tired.” Eddie repeated, for what felt like the millionth time, as he placed his stuff in the sink. “It was a long day, so I’m just gonna go to bed.”

He turned to head towards his room, leaving Myra and his mother to their devices. Myra stayed here a lot these days, but she never stayed the night. Mom was hell bent on the ‘wait till marriage’ pact that Eddie was finding himself growing thankful for.

They would finish up dinner, have tea or something of the sort, and talk in hushed voice for a good while about Eddie’s well-being before she would leave for the night. However, Eddie was barely able to cross the archway of the kitchen before his name caught his attention.

“Eddie.” Myra was leveling him with an intense gaze the second he glanced over his shoulder at her. His eyes widened a little, his mother’s own face making the same expression just over her shoulder. “You didn’t say goodnight, Eddie.”

He felt it down his spine- the unease, but Eddie swallowed what was left of his pride and crossed back over to his girlfriend. Grasping the back of her chair he leaned over, pressing a quick peck to her expecting lips. “Goodnight, Myra.” He muttered.

“You know I don’t like it when you curse, Eddie.” She said icily.

She always used his name more when she was upset with him.

Eddie felt himself burn with an odd sense of embarrassment, even though there was no one else here to witness this except for the two women.

He was a grown man, for fucks sake.

Despite what he might feel inside- about all of this being ridiculous and him being too old for all of this shit and enough self-awareness to know that he was whipped to high heaven—Eddie stepped over to his mother and kissed her on the cheek too. She had tilted her head to expect it even before he got close to her.

“…Night, mommy.” He mumbled, inwardly cringing at himself, but feeling an odd sense of ease at her pleased expression.

Eddie left the kitchen immediately then, heading back to the stairs and up them before either of the woman could decide that him feeling tired would be some starter symptom to any number of diseases.

\--

Richie had one too many drinks already.

It was probably a problem at this point, he was thinking hazily to himself, that he had just gotten out of the hospital for alcohol poisoning and was right back on it in the same hotel room.

Granted he was only a few glasses deep in the bottle of Jack Daniel’s that the housekeeping hadn’t cleaned out but had instead stood up neatly in his mini fridge, and his tolerance was high enough. It was just enough to feel a buzz- for his lips to bring on that odd sense of numbness and his vision to blur at the edges just a little.

He knew he was buzzed when he began to notice his own glasses, staring at the rim of them out of the corner of his eye like they were the cause of all his problems.

Claire had left a few nasty voicemails and a couple of text messages, and there had been a few from his improv group as well- both equal degrees of nasty and passive aggressive.

It seemed the consensus was that he was out, and they were all heading to their next location. Apparently, Richie could go back to LA whenever he wanted now.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted, actually.

He had dropped out of college for this group—but that wasn’t the problem.

The problem wasn’t the no degree or no life plan. The problem wasn’t sitting in a hotel room that was racking up more and more charges on his credit card each passing second that he wasn’t going to have a way to pay off unless he found something soon.

No.

The problem was Eddie _fucking _Kaspbrak and his _fucking _mouth and the way he had weaseled his _fucking _way back into Richie’s _fucking _life.

Richie made a face and went to pour another glass—the bottle clinked against the rim as he gave a moment of hesitation.

Maybe he shouldn’t.

But, as life would have it, by some _mistake _some of the amber liquid dripped inside. Deciding that was enough of a sign that he needed, Richie filled the glass just a little too much and sat the bottle back down, slouching down into the bathtub a little more.

As soon as he had gotten back into his room after Eddie had dropped him off, he had run straight for the bathroom and thrown up.

It was the anxiety of it all—the conversation in the car. He had actually worked up most of the nerve to say he _was _gay.

Him.

Richie Tozier.

Gay.

_Ha_.

Eddie had kissed him that second time in the hospital. Eddie was the one who had come back to pick him up—who had brought the pictures, who had texted him and taken his number. The one who sat leg to leg with him on the bed, elbow to elbow—god, he wanted him closer than that.

A sudden urge to be _breath _to _breath _with this tightly wound man in black tie that looked more like a noose than anything business casual.

He had thought he felt something- a certain vibe off Eddie. A silent mutual agreement that yes—yes, they both wanted this.

When he had kissed Eddie, he had taken a shot in the dark—

And when Eddie had kissed _him_, he thought he had landed his target.

Apparently, that was just a _fucking _mistake.

Richie knocked back some of the drink, letting the alcohol burn in his mouth before he swallowed it down and pulled a face.

After he had town up, he had merely grabbed the bottle again, a glass, and slumped right down into the bathtub like the sad sack of shit he was. Richie gave a heartless laugh and pressed the cool glass to his forehead, letting his free hand dangle loosely over the edge of the tub, barely brushing against his cellphone on the floor.

It buzzed suddenly beneath his fingertips and Richie jumped out of his skin.

“Fuck--!” He whacked his foot hard against the faucet as he sat up too quickly, prompting another curse.

Richie snatched the phone up—and promptly snapped it open, then closed again to hang up without even looking at the contact. He was done for the night. It was too late for people to be calling anyways.

\--

The phone went straight to voice mail after only two rings and Eddie felt his heart sink with it.

Eddie had closed his bedroom door immediately upon entering—and went so far as to prop his desk chair up against it to block it from opening. It was a childish move, and one that made him feel all the more guilty for pulling his phone out and calling the man he would much rather be with. The risk of his mother, or even Myra, just barging in was too high after his little outburst in the kitchen.

He now sat tucked up onto his bed, back against the wall and knees curled in, his cellphone clenched in his hand and the dead tone playing its long drawn out sound on the other end. Richie had hung up on him immediately then.

Eddie couldn’t really blame him.

Though Eddie was a stubborn person.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the button with the read phone icon on it in, taking a deep breath and staring at Richie’s name on the small pixelated screen. After counting to ten, Eddie pressed the green button once more and stuck it back near his ear.

The phone rang once—twice—three times—

“What do you want.” Richie’s voice pierced through the other line, and Eddie’s heart promptly made a running jump for his throat.

Eddie, who could have sworn he had mentally prepared an entire speech, suddenly realized he had nothing to say. He sat there for a moment, clutching the cellphone tight in a hand that was now shaking.

“Hi, Rich…” He settled on, then immediately smacked his head back against the wall for it. That was fucking stupid—this was all insane.

“Okay, yeah. Hi. What the fuck do you want?” Richie’s voice caught in a way that made Eddie frown, but he didn’t press. His words sounded slow and he stumbled over the middle of his sentence, which made the guilt crawl its way through Eddie’s lower stomach and settle in his chest.

Eddie, swallowing his pride and his panic, closed his eyes and clutched the phone a little tighter. “…I’m sorry about what I said. I--…I don’t know what I was thinking, Rich. I was kinda just freaking the fuck out—”

“Well isn’t that a surprise—ah fuck.”

“What? Are you okay?”

“Yeah—fucking fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Eddie let the silence sit, unsure of what to say or what to do. He had initiated this phone call, and even called back when Richie had hung up. Now he was just sitting here, tongue heavy in his mouth and heart pounding in his chest.

He ran his thumb over the plastic of his inhaler at his side, keeping it close by just in case.

“Why are you calling, Eds? Just to say you’re sorry. Can I go now then?” Richie said finally once the silence had stretched far too long for his comfort.

It seemed to kick Eddie’s thoughts back into gear, the plastic of the phone creaking a little at how tightly he held it.

“No—don’t hang up.” He said, all too quickly, “I wanted to say that I’m sorry and that, well, that I…might be…”

“Might be what? I’m not in the mood for games right now okay? Shocking, I know.”

“Might be—_you know_—”

“Just fucking say it, whatever it is.”

Eddie wrinkled up his nose, his brow creasing and etching lines into his forehead. He took a slow breath in—then stuck the inhaler to his mouth and breathed in deeply again.

“…I might be into you. And the shit I said in the car was because I was panicking. I was panicking because you were right—you were fucking right, Rich. I don’t know why I kissed you, but it just felt like I should and when I did I kinda freaked out and I’m still freaking out a lot, but it wasn’t a mistake, okay? It fucking wasn’t—”

“Fucking breathe for me, Eds. Jesus.” Richie cut off his rant before it could go any further, leaving Eddie to sit there with sweaty hands and a fluttering heart.

Maybe he did have a fever. Maybe mother was right.

“Sorry. I guess…I’m still panicking.”

“Yeah no shit.”

They sat for a moment more, Eddie closing his eyes and trying to picture wherever Richie was. It was the hotel room, hopefully. Was he sitting on the bed? Or maybe at the desk. Maybe there was a balcony—and with the moonlight right now Richie would look pretty handsome.

“…So, what are you doing?” Eddie ventured when he didn’t know what else to say.

There was a snort on the other end of the line, and the clinking of a glass. Eddie’s forever frown only deepened.

“Just…hanging out.” Richie’s answer didn’t seem convincing- and Eddie was feeling the bubbling urge to go check on him. He needed to make sure he was alright, he felt it like a knot in his stomach.

A turning point in his life.

He _needed _to go see him.

“….What room are you in?” He asked, throwing caution to the wind and suddenly scrambling to his feet. This was the stupidest decision. This was the most impulsive, unsafe—the most stupid and irresponsible thing he was doing in his recent memory, but something about Richie sparked a fire in him.

Something about Richie in his life made him want to live it.

“Uh…Two—fucking something. Two ‘o two, I think. Why?” He could hear Richie pause and listen as Eddie moved about his room to try and find his wallet and keys. “…Why, Eds. What are you doing?”

“I’m coming down there, you fucking idiot.” Eddie snapped. He didn’t really mean to, but he was well past freaking out and it always did funny things with his voice. Like pitch it higher and make it faster, make him sound more on edge than usual, which was a lot of edge to be on all things considered.

He heard Richie do something—maybe he was getting up. There was that clinking of the glass again and the dull thuds of someone getting to their feet on a hard surface. “What do you mean you’re coming down here? What the fuck—”

“Just—just lemme do this, okay? This is insane. I’m losing my fucking mind- I’m probably feverish and I’m having a fucking crisis but Chris in the call center said its okay to be gay and Chris is gay and he seems to be having a damn good fucking life so why can’t I be into dudes, right? Like if normal guys in the call center can be into dudes then I can—and like it’s not the eighties anymore and—”

“If you say a _single _thing that I think you’re going to I’m gonna hang up now.”

Eddie paused for a millisecond with his phone tucked against his ear and one arm in his jacket.

“Right. Sorry. Anyways—I kinda wanna be talking about this in person? Also, because—” He paused again, wrestling his other arm into his jacket and standing there for a moment in the middle of his bedroom at nine in the evening on a work night.

“…Cause what, Eds?”

Eddie shifted back and forth on his feet, his gaze staring off at the opposite wall completely unfocused. “…I wanna fucking kiss you again, alright? There. I said it.”

He could practically hear the cogs in Richie’s mind come to a screeching halt. Eddie seized the silence as an opportunity to check down the hallway quietly, making sure the kitchen lights were off downstairs and that his mother’s door was closed. It was—but the light streaming out from under the door told him that she was still awake.

“How long until you can get here?” Richie asked.

Eddie took a deep breath, “…I’m gonna have to Mission Impossible it. Give me thirty minutes.”

\--

Turns out the ‘Mission Impossible’-ing took longer than thirty minutes apparently.

Richie felt the nerves knot tightly in his stomach as the minutes ticked by. He had stopped drinking after he hung up with Eddie and had hid the bottle away in a small sense of panic, and even downed a couple glasses of water. Something had possessed him to try and act sober—maybe it was shame, or nerves—or maybe the fact that he didn’t want Eddie to slip through his fingers again.

Even though he wasn’t quite sure when he had slipped before.

The rapid knock on the door startled him and Richie jumped to his feet. It was some kind of manic knocking- a repeated _tap tap tap tap taptaptaptaptap_ without stopping. Richie pulled a face and crossed the hotel room immediately, undoing the deadbolt and yanking the door open.

There stood Eddie, arm still raised, and fist still formed. His eyes were wide, his face was flushed and-- Jesus, his hair was a mess and there were _leaves _in it.

Richie stared down at the five-foot walking manic episode and blinked twice.

He was pretty certain he had sobered up enough, but this was certainly something.

“…What the _fuck _happened to you?”

Eddie, chest rising and falling with rapid breath, pushed himself inside the hotel room and immediately started pacing. He shoved his hands into his hair to grab it, making it stand on end and dislodging a couple of the leaves.

“I’m having a fucking nervous _breakdown _that’s fucking what—” He started off frantically, crossing the length of the room then looping back, “So- first I see you again, right? This is a couple day old break down but keep up—and then I’m like ‘holy shit. I like this guy’, right? Then we kiss and then shit gets weird and then I talk to Chris—”

“I’m caught up to this point, fuckface. I’ve lived half of this—and who the hell is Chris? Should I be worried ‘cause you’ve mentioned him twice—”

“He works in the call center, shut the fuck up.”

“Why are there leaves in your hair?”

“I climbed out the _fucking **window**_, Rich!” Eddie stopped suddenly, spinning to look at him. There was a sudden, borderline hysterical laugh as Eddie decided that was the perfect moment to hop on one foot and try to get his shoes off. “Like a goddamn rebellious teen!”

“So, let me get this straight—” Richie folded his arms over his chest, staying hovering by the entry and watching the one-man drama play out right before his eyes. “You had a gay emotional crisis- called me—then climbed out your bedroom window so mommy wouldn’t catch you?”

Eddie pitched his shoes across the room, staring as they landed with a thud near the desk and wincing at the too loud sound. “Basically, yeah.”

“Right.” Richie looked at the shoes, then back at Eddie, and popped his lips. “Are you gonna pass out on me? You look like you’re gonna fucking fall over. Should I get a chair?”

“No—just—you—just—shut up. Just shut the fuck up, Richie. Shut up.” Eddie stood a little straighter, shifted his stance—and then advanced on him in frightening speed.

“Fucking shit are you gonna hit me now, cause--” Richie barely had time to even finish his sentence.

There was a sudden tight and shaking grasp on the front of his t-shirt, hauling him down to Eddie-height—Then there were suddenly lips smacked against his own in an insistent and bruising kiss.

It was all teeth and desperation- lost and found emotions. It left Richie breathless in seconds, and he was pretty sure his heart was fit to burst when Eddie threw his arms around him and crowded in as close as physically possible. Intense and awkward and unprepared—the sudden weight of Eddie against him caused Richie to stumble back, smacking uncomfortably into the corner of the wall.

“_Ow_—Jesus fucking _shit_, Eds--!” Richie had his hands on his waist, because he wasn’t sure where else to put them.

Eddie seemed to come to his senses enough to wince, his breath coming in short labored gasps. “I’m sorry—are you okay--?”

Instead of answering, Richie hauled him back in, pulling Eddie close and leaning back against the wall as he kissed him once more. Teeth clacking as they tried to find a rhythm, Richie’s head swimming- and not just from the left-over buzz of alcohol.

Eddie’s hands were _everywhere—_They were shoved under Richie’s shirt, over his chest, down over the arch of his hips—out from his shirt and up over his shoulders—into his hair—cupping his face—

It made Richie’s breath catch in his throat and went straight to his dick quicker than anything ever had. Everything about Eddie just felt _right _like it had in the hospital.

Eddie felt like a breath of fresh air. He felt like coming home to a warm welcome. He felt like a bowl of hot soup on a cold night or warming your cold feet by the fireplace in a cabin while the snow fell softly outside—any bullshit romantic analogies that Richie’s brain could supply.

And all they were doing was _kissing_.

Actually, it had probably crossed out of the ‘just kissing’ territory when Richie realized that Eddie’s tongue was in his mouth and the motion of sliding his own along it sent a spike of heat straight down his spine. He reached up, grabbing the back of Eddie’s head and holding to his hair tightly as he sucked on his tongue. The moan he gave was delicious—Richie wanted to hear it on repeat forever.

They went at it with all the pent-up frustration of a sexually repressed young adult—which, maybe they both were.

Eddie was breathing hard and hot against his mouth, at some point his leg had ended up crammed between Richie’s as he straddled his own, rocking eagerly against his thigh.

It was filthy, desperate—and quite honestly fucking chaotic with the left-over sticks in Eddie’s hair and Richie’s glasses crammed up against his nose hard enough to leave a red dent.

When Richie broke from the kiss to breathe Eddie started all but devouring his neck- nipping and biting, leaving possessive little marks in a frantic state. Richie felt his eyes nearly roll back into his head. He reached down and grabbed a handful of Eddie’s ass and pulled him closer, his own moan matching tune to a soft whine as their hips picked up a slow, grinding rhythm in tandem.

“Eds—Eddie, hey—” Richie bit his lower lip, muffling a groan as Eddie sunk his teeth in where the soft skin of his neck met his shoulder. He tugged on his hair a little more to get his attention, then finally simply yanked his head back when the goddamn leech wouldn’t get off of his neck.

“_Eddie_—” And wow, if that sight didn’t do something to him, holding Eddie’s hair tight in his fingers and staring down at him, flushed and panting with red and swollen parted lips. “Fuck…”

Richie had to shake himself, coming back to the question at hand. “…Are you _sure _about this?”

He had to ask. He just had to.

Nothing would be as heart wrenching as Eddie regretting this- or running out, or just leaving afterward or before they even got started. If, right now, Eddie just ran he could make himself okay with it. Richie had been in this place before- stuck between the blinding white panic of what you want and the searing anxiety of what you’ve been told is wrong. He tried to catch his own breath, staring at the man who seemed to be just barely restraining himself from climbing Richie like a goddamn tree.

“…Wah?” Eddie answered, dumbly, blinking hard once through his hazy arousal. He was running one hand slowly up and down Richie’s chest.

It was insanely distracting.

Richie swallowed hard. “This. Us. Are you sure you want to do this? What about Myra?”

There was only a brief pause, nothing but hot breath hanging between them. Eddie’s eyes were deep and thoughtful—but determined. There was a fire behind them Richie was certain he had seen once before.

A fire lit when Eddie decided to take a stand. When he wanted to hold his own—a blaze of bravery and determination and—self-worth.

Eddie breathed in shakily through his nose—once—then twice—deeply—

“Fuck Myra.”

He surged back in, grabbing the front of Richie’s shirt and dragging him back towards the bed.

Richie went with him—as easy as being swept out with the tide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for ending it there I swear there will be payoff in this fic but this chapter was just getting a tad too long for my chaptered works. 
> 
> I'm @acornandroid on Twitter if you wanna yell at me for it


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